In The Shoes Of Hitsugaya
by justjoy
Summary: Hitsugaya Tōshirō: taichō of the 10th Division, youngest shinigami to achieve bankai, embodiment of a heavenly guardian. But what happens when he deals with real life? A couple of oneshots detailing the everyday life of everyone's favourite child prodigy.
1. April Fool's Day?

DISCLAIMER: I will contact Tite Kubo about gaining copyrights for _Bleach._ Until then, however, I don't even own a Hollow.

Author's Note: I was recently hit by a cartload of ideas, largely featuring my favourite _taich__ō_, otherwise known as Hitsugaya Tōshirō. Since none of them are large enough to be a stand-alone fic, I decided to put them all here. Ideas will range across several genres, the most being humour. Matsumoto (and, probably, Hyōrinmaru) wil also appear quite frequently. So hope you enjoy this, and I will stop talking now.

On with the story.

_

* * *

_

Tōshirō walked into his division headquarters, plagued by a distinct sense of unease.

He told himself, firmly, that the feeling was unfounded – only to retract that statement, a mere minute later, when he walked into his office.

It was only due to his quick reflexes that he was able to freeze the stream of water falling from a bucket above the door. It was clearly meant to drench him as he entered the room.

Tōshirō was contemplating the glittering cascade of ice, which still hung in mid air, suspended by the part of it that was in the bucket, when he heard a groan behind him.

He turned around just in time to see his _fukutaichō_ wake up from where she had been sleeping – on the couch – and yawning loudly. She looked surprised when she saw him standing beneath the frozen bucket of water.

Was it his imagination, or did her expression also contain some disappointment?

The cogs in Tōshirō's mind began to whirr, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He wasn't known as a genius for nothing, after all.

"_Taichō_!" Matsumoto exclaimed.

_Okay,_ he thought, _I definitely didn't imagine the disappointment just now._ He scrutinized her. Something was off, he knew.

"Matsumoto, why are you here so early today?" _And without a hangover,_ Tōshirō added silently.

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Er… well, I decided to make a fresh start today, so I came to work earlier! Yes, that's it!"

Her voice was too cheery. Not even a drunk Matsumoto sounded like _that_.

"Matsumoto." The _taichō_ held back a sigh. "You look like you've been sleeping on that couch all night."

"No, of course not! Why would I do that – ah, fine, I slept here last night." She wilted under Tōshirō's stare. "But that was only because I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy April Fool's Day!"

He had barely opened his mouth to ask what _that_ was when she began to move out of the room.

"I'll go back and change, _taichō_. Be back in an hour!"

And with that, his _fukutaichō _disappeared.

_April Fool's Day._

Tōshirō _really_ sighed this time.

_For things like this, I presume there is only one person to ask._

_Although I suspect he it is the one and the same person who told Matsumoto about this in the first place._

* * *

Ichigo was on his way to Karakura High when a shadow suddenly appeared beside him.

"Tōshirō!"

The person beside him growled.

"It's Hitsugaya-_taichō_!"

Both locked stares for a brief moment before Tōshirō asked his question.

"So, Kurosaki, I have a question for you. What is April Fool's Day?"

The shorter of the two hid a near-evil grin as the orange-haired teenager beside him almost tripped over in surprise.

"Oh _crap_," he muttered.

Tōshirō continued to stare, unblinkingly, at Ichigo.

This time, it was _his_ turn to sigh. "What did Matsumoto do this time?"

"A bucket of water above the door. I managed to freeze it on time, though." He treated the substitute _shinigami_ to an icy glare as his suspicions were confirmed. "So you _did_ tell her about it."

"Well… I didn't mean to," he replied. Then he took in Tōshirō's expression of supreme annoyance. "I shouldn't have told her, should I?"

The _taichō_ didn't even want to answer _that_ question, for fear of accidentally killing his only source of information – other than Matsumoto herself, of course. Unfortunately, although Tōshirō trusted Matsumoto to do many things well, there were two things he found her completely unreliable for: running the division, and giving information.

He mentally cursed both of them. _Kurosaki,_ he thought, _you are _so_ going to pay for this._

When he spoke, his tone sounded light, but possessed a certain edge to it that promised a world of pain to those involved.

"You haven't answered my question, Kurosaki." Tōshirō paused for maximum effect, making sure to enunciate each word clearly.

"What. Is. April. Fool's. Day?"

Ichigo gulped.

* * *

Precisely fifty-five minutes later, Tōshirō was back in his office, starting on the paperwork for the day.

He felt Matsumoto's _reiatsu_ near the office door six minutes later.

_And in three…_ he counted the seconds… _two…_ from her step, he guessed that she was just _slightly_ hungover... _one._

The door flew open.

"I'm back, _tai–"_

_SPLASH!_

Tōshirō marvelled, for a brief and satisfying moment, at his _fukutaichō_'s remarkable resemblance to a wet dog in this state.

He spoke just as Matsumoto began to splutter.

"I decided to reciprocate the _favour_," Tōshirō emphasized the word, continuing to read the report that he was holding. "April Fool's Day _is_ a happy day, isn't it, Matsumoto?"

"What – what do you mean, _taichō_?" She put on the most hurt and pitiful face that he had seen so far. "How can you assume that _I_ put the bucket of water there just now?"

Tōshirō sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Especially today.

"That is for you to wonder, and for me to know." The _taichō_ pointed towards the neat stack of paperwork next to him.

The temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees as Matsumoto went to pick it up. Or maybe it was the cold wind that had started in the room.

She shivered. "I'm _cold_, _taichō_."

He looked up at her briefly before going back to his work.

"I don't agree. Besides, it will keep you awake." Tōshirō suppressed another mischevious smile. Revenge _was_ fun. "Get to work already."

Matsumoto grumbled to herself, but reluctantly grabbed the first piece of paper off the pile.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Tōshirō could hear the chuckle that he recognized to be Hyōrinmaru's. He agreed heartily with the _zanpakutō._

_Happy April Fool's Day indeed._

_

* * *

_**END**

_

* * *

_

2nd Author's Note: Hope you liked it. :) I just realised that this is the first time I've written Hitsugaya as the main character. I should write about him more often, he's fun to write.

3rd (and last) Author's Note: And please, REVIEW! Thanks! Virtual cookies (and replies) await!


	2. The Cold

DISCLAIMER: I own the two nameless, faceless arrancar. Nothing else.

Author's Note: A big THANK YOU to all who read the last chapter! 2 alerts, 3 reviews, 4 favourites... wow, I really didn't expect _that_ from such a short story. You guys rock :P So this episode is dedicated to all of you, especially to those who reviewed! (*nudge* *wink* *nudge* *wink* *wink*)

2nd Author's Note: This story could be alternately titled Poor Hitsugaya: The Terror Of - oh, never mind. Won't tell you, or it'd spoil the story. You'll just have to read on to find out then... *evil cackle*

* * *

Tōshirō glared at the two arrancar that stood before him, _zanpakutou_s drawn.

He cursed his luck bitterly.

They were right at the centre of some town in the Real World. Which meant that there were people constantly walking by, oblivious to the fight that was going on in their midst.

Again, the _taichō_ wondered why they had chosen to attack him _here_, of all places. Why couldn't they have come after him when he was at the outskirts of the town? Or, at the very least, yesterday, when he had been in Karakura Town to see Urahara?

_Oh, no,_ Tōshirō thought to himself, scanning his surroundings again. _They _would_ have to choose the most inconvenient place to attack in._

He knew full well that Hyōrinmaru, given the chance, could easily destroy the pair of arrancar within the blink of an eye. But he was reluctant to use his _shikai_, considering where they were and all. Using it, even under the power limiter _and_ with extremely tight control on Tōshirō's part, would definitely mean freezing anything within a metre of where he stood. Or even further.

So he had been fighting with Hyōrinmaru in its sealed state. Considering that there were _two_ arrancar fighting only one person, namely Hitsugaya Tōshirō, the fact that he had only sustained two cuts – one on each shoulder, and not deep ones at that – while both of them were sweating, heavily so, spoke volumes about their abilities.

"Or, in this case, lack thereof," Tōshirō muttered to himself.

The arrancar to his left sniggered. "What's that you said? I didn't catch it." He cocked his head to the side, as if sizing his opponent up. "Giving up already? Are you sure you're a _taichō_? You stole some captain's _haori_, didn't you, eh, _shorty_?"

A sudden roaring in Tōshirō's ears covered the arrancar's hysterical laughter.

Unfortunately (for him), the arrancar failed to notice the green eyes that narrowed in a manner that would have prompted almost all of the Gotei 13 to beg for mercy before running away as far as they could get.

_He. Called. Me._

The owner of the glare ground his teeth, gripping his _zanpakutō_ with all the strength in his ten fingers.

_SHORTY._

A turquoise aura burst to life around the infruriated _taichō_, becoming brighter with every passing second. The arrancar's laughter stopped abruptly.

"Sit upon the frozen heavens, Hyorinma – _achoo!_"

Tōshirō sneezed.

The _reiatsu_, which had been steadily building up around him for the last five minutes, shot out towards the two arrancar.

By the time Tōshirō managed to curb his sneezing, ice surrounded him. Everything between him and the pair of arrancar was covered with a thick layer of ice that nearly came up to his knees.

The arrancar didn't even have a hope of breaking free.

As Tōshirō took the memory replacer out of his pocket, he wondered, very briefly, how he was going to explain this to Yamamoto-_sotaichō_, Soifon-_taichō_, and Unohana-_taichō_.

It was times like this when Tōshirō was _really _glad to be the head of his division.

Otherwise, he would have _four_ people to report to instead.

Tōshirō shuddered at the mere thought of trying to do _that_.

_

* * *

_

THREE DAYS LATER...

**

* * *

**

Fourth Division. Argh.

If there was a place that the _taichō _of the Tenth Division detested more, he couldn't think of it.

There were many things he disliked about the place, since being there meant he was a patient, which entailed having to stay still, and not being able to do _anything_ at all. In addition, he always ended up bargaining with Unohana-_taichō _while worrying about how the division was faring under his _fukutaichō. _Also, it prevented him from training with his _zanpakutō_, an arrangement which both Tōshirō and Hyōrinmaru detested, though for different reasons.

But most of all, Tōshirō hated the annoyingly white ceiling.

As far as he was concerned, the ceiling, which he now glared at, was unique to the Fourth Division headquarters. In fact, Tōshirō suspected that it was meant to completely bore patients out of their minds, thus ensuring that they would be more susceptible to whatever treatment was administered on them.

That was the reason why it – the ceiling, that is – was covered in a layer of ice that glittered in the sunlight that filtered in through the window. One had to admit that it _did_ look nicer than the sterile white, which, somehow, managed to be whiter than Tōshirō's already pale hair.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The truth, however much Tōshirō wanted to deny it, was that the ice had formed quite unintentionally. Of course, the truth was also why Unohana-_taichō_ had insisted on keeping him here even after his wounds had healed.

_I knew it. I shouldn't have told Unohana-taichō about my cold. Damn it._

The _taichō_ of the Fourth Division had looked at Tōshirō very seriously as he finally, and almost unwillingly, explained why everything within a _ten-mile radiu__s_ of where he had been was covered in a thick layer of ice. She had then proceeded, to Matsumoto's amusement and Tōshirō's everlasting horror, to dump him in this room so that he could "recover", as she had put it.

He had been here ever since.

Actually, now that Tōshirō thought about it, ten miles was quite a long distance, especially since it had been accidental, and he was only using _shikai_ with a power limiter on him. He wondered how the effect would have differed if he hadn't sneezed. Would it have been worse?

_You're just trying to – achoo! – distract yourself, and you know it._

Hyōrinmaru's words, though punctuated with a sneeze or two, were nothing but the plain truth.

But Tōshirō ignored him. After all, he had been in here for _three _whole days. _I _do_ have__ the right to complain,_ he thought darkly.

Again ignoring the ice dragon, who now alternated between laughing and sneezing, Tōshirō forced his mind onto other things. Like how ironic it was that he, the wielder of an ice-element _zanpakutou_, and the strongest one in Soul Society at that, was suffering from the cold.

Hyōrinmaru nodded miserably, prompting another sneeze.

Tōshirō sighed. It was going to be a _long _day.

* * *

Outside the door, two people were having a conversation.

"You know what?" began the taller of the two. "If he knows that you had cold medication _all along_, he's _really_ going to kill you, Unohana-_taichō_."

Unohana smiled. "He won't, don't worry. It's for his own good, after all. He's been working _far _too hard. Besides, I can always say that I only found it now," she added, her smile growing wider. "He's too afraid of the Fourth Division and all it represents to argue with me."

Beside her, Matsumoto suppressed a shudder. The seemingly gentle _taichō_ could be _really_ scary at times.

"True," she muttered in reply.

The pair stood outside in silence for quite some time, observing the room.

Condensation had been forming on the outside of the door for two days. Matsumoto thought that she could make out some small icicles too. It probably meant that the temperature in the room was far from normal room temperature and closer to that of the…

W_herever it was that those white furry bears lived_, Matsumoto decided.

She turned back to the person beside her.

"How long are you going to keep him in there?"

The _taichō_ of the Fourth Division only smiled as she walked away.

As she disappeared from view, Matsumoto took one last look at the door to her _taichō_'s room, then hurried back to start on the paperwork that was piled up on her desk.

She didn't feel like being the object of his ire when he escaped his forced holiday.

_If _he ever did, that is.

* * *

**END**

* * *

3rd Author's Note: Hope you liked it :) Again, I repeat: poor, poor Hitsugaya. Alas, but he is just _such_ a fun character to torture. Being too likable _does_ have its downsides, I guess.

4th (and last) Author's Note: Okay, you know what I am going to say... Review, please, people! I already have two more ideas for this series on my "to-write list". All I need is encouragement! Thanks! Suggestions are always welcome!

(In a not-quite-related note: I'm planning to write a "full version" of the first story in this series. Something along the lines of "April Fool's Day in Soul Society". I actually came up with most of the pranks for each division already. So, if written, it will consist of at least thirteen chapters, one for each division. Tell me what you guys think of this idea! Ideas for more pranks also VERY welcome [since I'm not much of a prankster myself O.O]!)


	3. A Hitsugaya Holiday, Part I

DISCLAIMER: Nope. But I _do_ own the sk– whoops. Not going to tell you. Read.

Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. I wanted to write this earlier, but got… distracted… (read: became addicted to drawing characters from _Bleach_, mainly Hitsugaya) and ended up putting it off again and again. Finally, I managed to coerce myself into writing, so there. I decided to split this into two parts, since I wanted to publish this fic today, but I'm just too tired to finish the whole story tonight. (Besides, this part is very long already, trust me.) Part 2 for this should come out within the next three days, as long as I don't get sidetracked again. My thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, and hope you enjoy this one! Cheers!

* * *

Tōshirō closed his eyes wearily.

The _taichō_'s eyes were bleary from looking through the huge stack of paperwork that had made it to his table, most of which needed authorization by either himself or Matsumoto.

_Who, unfortunately, does not seem to be here right now._

In fact, his _fukutaichō_ had been missing since lunch, which was a rare occurrence, even for her. Normally, she would drag herself back to the Tenth Division headquarters, and either doodle on their paperwork or sleep on the couch, depending on how hungover she was.

Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes in a futile effort to revive them, Tōshirō wondered, briefly, where Matsumoto had gone. She hadn't gone drinking, he knew, since he had just seen Kira, whom Matsumoto wouldn't drink without, pass outside the windows of his office.

_So where has she gone to?_

"_T__aichō_!"

Speak of the devil.

Tōshirō winced as the loud sound of his _fukutaichō_'s voice hit his ears. His head was beginning to pound.

_Looks like my question is about to be answered about… now._

The current object of Tōshirō's annoyance bounded into the room, taking in his posture.

"Ooh, _taichō_, have you been sleeping? You –"

He turned to glare at her. The glare, which would have sent some to the Fourth Division immediately, had barely any effect on Matsumoto, although it _did_ help to quieten her, something Tōshirō was extremely grateful for.

"I have been doing _paperwork_, Matsumoto." The _taichō_ hardly bothered to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, ignoring Matsumoto's – obviously faked – puppy eyes. "You _do_ know what that is, don't you? If you don't, let me tell you. Paperwork is something that _both_ you and I are supposed to do, not something that _you_ dump on _me_ before going out somewhere and subsequently disappearing for _half a day_!"

By the end of his sentence, Tōshirō had, in his usual way of multitasking, finished skimming another report from his third seat and was about to sign it when a piece of paper landed in front of him.

His eyes immediately caught the bold black words written across the top of the paper. The nature of it suddenly became clear to him, as clear as the throbbing pain from the now full-blown headache.

Barely a split of a second later, Matsumoto found herself, yet again, the victim of her _taichō_'s icy glare, although this one was far more potent, and seemed to carry the promise of retribution if the owner of that glare was not satisfied.

Which he wasn't, not at all.

"Matsumoto." His voice was as icy as his glare. "What, precisely, is the meaning of this?"

"Don't be like that, _taichō_," she whined. "I spent _three_ days trying to get this approved. I even had to go look for Yamamoto-_sōtaichō_ himself!"

Tōshirō's glare did not diminish in the slightest bit. If anything, it intensified.

"That does not explain why I need _this_." He pointed at the piece of paper that lay innocently on his desk.

Matsumoto sighed.

She wondered how she was going to explain to her _taichō_ why she had applied for two weeks' leave from work for him.

Much less the paper that she now hid behind her own back for her _own_ leave from work.

* * *

ONE WEEK LATER...

* * *

Matsumoto shivered slightly as she stepped out of the small chalet. The snow was coming down rather thickly for this time of the year, as the resort manager had informed her when she had rented the chalet.

She couldn't help but agree with him.

Although Matsumoto was certain that there was at least one person she knew who didn't think so.

"_T__aichō_?" she called out, voice slightly muffled by the scarf around her neck.

No answer.

She guessed that he was hiding up some tree, brooding, which would be easy given his small frame, even though both of them were in _gigai_.

_Well, at least it's better than last week._

Matsumoto snickered at the recollection of her _taichō_'s reaction when she had told him where she planned to bring him during this holiday. Or, as he had – quite accurately, in fact – put it, abduct him to after forcing him to miss two whole weeks of work.

_Although I wouldn't call it "forcing him to miss work". _She pondered the phrasing for a moment. _More like "allowing him to take a break from his job". Sounds much better._

In her honest opinion, her _taichō_'s expression of utter horror had been worth all the trouble she had gone to.

And it was all because Matsumoto had told him that they were going to the beach.

_

* * *

_

_The beach. _

_Honestly…_

Tōshirō shook his head in disgust. There were always times when he didn't know what his _fukutaichō_ was thinking, but he had been seriously doubted her sanity when she told him that they were headed for the _beach_.

Matsumoto, of all people, should have known how much he detested going to beaches. _Or anywhere hot, for that matter._

The only reason that she had gotten out of the _taichō_'s office in one piece, unharmed, was because of her set of backup tickets – evidently suggested by Ukitake – to a resort in the Swiss Alps.

Which was where they were now.

He made a mental note to thank the Thirteenth Division _taichō_ once he returned to Soul Society. That, and berate him for not telling Tōshirō about Matsumoto's plans. Although, now that he thought about it...

As much as Tōshirō hated to admit it, he was actually_ enjoying_ himself here.

Sort of, at least.

To some extent, that was to be expected, since he was always more agreeable when surrounded with ice and snow, both of which were present in abundance at the resort.

Then there had been the skiing lessons that Matsumoto had signed both of them up for – when she had done that, he had absolutely no idea. Being as familiar with the ice as Tōshirō was made him excel at it, even being called a 'natural' by the coach. His _fukutaichō_, however, had not been so lucky. She ended up stuck on the beginner's slope while he moved on, something that brightened up his day considerably, much to the amusement of his _zanpakutō_.

Of course, Hyōrinmaru had been even more delighted when Tōshirō had finally consented to release him on the icy slopes. Both _shinigami_ and _zanpakutō_ reasoned that it wouldn't matter either way.

After all, this _was_ the Swiss Alps. No one was really going to notice if the amount of ice covering the ground increased overnight.

In other words, this was the perfect place, both for training and having fun.

Not that Tōshirō was about to tell Matsumoto that.

He _was_ honest and all that, but a _taichō_'s sense of pride came first.

Especially when it came to his _fukutaichō.

* * *

_

A black-cloaked figure left the chalet quietly, heading towards the offices of the ski resort. It broke into a jog as it neared the office.

"Sir!"

The resort manager, who had been locking the doors, looked up at the newcomer. He smiled as he recognised her.

"Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you?"

She checked for eavesdroppers before replying.

"I need to ask you for a favour."

The manager listened as she carefully detailed her plans for a certain guest at the resort.

* * *

Matsumoto ran towards Tōshirō, wildly waving the leaflet she held in her hands.

"_T__aichō_! Look at this!"

Reluctantly, and with a distinct sense of dread, Tōshirō accepted the paper, reading it quickly.

According to several eyewitnesses, his strangled yell could be heard a kilometre away.

* * *

_Pink._

The signboard was _pink_.

_Remind me why I am here again? _Tōshirō asked himself.

He knew the answer, of course. It was because Matsumoto had, after much bargaining, agreed to do three months' worth of paperwork all by herself if he did one thing.

Win this competition.

"And it _had_ to be an ice sculpturing competition," he muttered to himself.

Somehow, Tōshirō suspected that his _fukutaichō_ had something to do with organizing the competition. It was too much of a coincidence that it was only announced the day before, especially considering that this was the first time the resort was holding such a competition.

Unfortunately for Matsumoto, Tōshirō did _not_ believe in coincidences.

* * *

**to be continued...

* * *

**

2nd Author's Note: There we go :) Hope you liked it. As I said earlier, the second part should come out soon, as I have already thought of the general plot for it. Any suggestions, however, are greatly welcome, especially since this is the first fic in this series that isn't pure crack. Maybe I'll try at some fluff. Who knows? (Although I must admit that to be an unlikely possibility.)

3rd (and last) Author's Note: As usual, _please_ do review! (And wish me good luck too, preferably. I'm running for my school's student council election, and voting is tomorrow! *freaks out slightly* Hopefully I will see at least one review before I head off to school, then. Otherwise I really _might_ freak out. =S ) I'll be waiting!


	4. A Hitsugaya Holiday, Part II

Disclaimer: I suddenly got the ownership for _Bleach_ yesterday. For free. Oh, wait, that was a daydream.

Author's Note: Hey, I realised that all my chapters so far start with the word 'Tōshirō'. So I'm keeping up the tradition here. Heh.

2nd Author's Note: This story was originally planned to be funny all the way through, more like the two previous ones. But after thinking it through (thus the delay in posting), I finally decided against it, because (a) I wanted to try my hand at writing something that didn't resemble a crackfic, (b) I got this idea at the same time as the original one, and (c) I couldn't think of a single funny idea that wasn't completely OOC for Hitsugaya. So I apologize if this one isn't up to my usual standards, since I've had precious little practice at this genre. *crosses fingers* Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter, and review!

* * *

Tōshirō sighed.

He had been staring at the block of ice for _two_ hours and he still hadn't thought of anything.

In fact, he had walked around it so many times that he could almost memorize everything about it – its size and shape, the number of tiny cracks and imperfections that marred the otherwise smooth surface, even the exact shade of bluish-purple that it was.

The only real problem was that he just couldn't think of _anything_ to do with it.

Tōshirō was quite glad that he still had the rest of the day ahead of him to sculpt the ice. He suspected that it would take him at least another hour to think of a usable idea.

The _taichō_ would much rather be off training with Hyorinmaru than do this. Or out fighting Hollows.

"Come to think of it, even _paperwork_ might be preferable over this," he muttered to himself.

Unfortunately, as it would seem, creativity was not one of the _taichō_'s strengths.

He sat on the thick blanket of snow, running his hand over the ice. Briefly, Tōshirō considered taking Matsumoto's suggestion. _Although winning by releasing Hyōrinmaru would _really_ be quite unfair to the other contestants, _he thought.

The ice dragon gave a snort of agreement.

_So Matsumoto's suggestion is out of the question. _He racked his brains for a moment. A sudden thought occurred to him.

Tōshirō wondered what Hinamori would do in his place.

_Hinamori…_

Thinking of his childhood friend reminded him of his days in Rukongai, when he had just arrived in Soul Society. Afraid, alone.

Defenseless.

Of course, he had been fortunate enough to arrive in Junrinan, the First District of West Rukongai. It was the most lawful district, being closest to the center. He couldn't have ended up in a safer place, considering the things he had heard from those who had lived in other districts, like Abarai and his own _fukutaichō._

But the fact remained that, although Tōshirō had been safe from physical harm, he was still open to other attacks.

There were things that could hurt more than swords or fists, as he knew all too well.

Sometimes, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't met Hinamori, or his grandmother. Most of the time, though, he didn't want to think about it.

It was only because of the two of them that he had happy memories of his years in Rukongai, even though he had been lonelier after Hinamori had left for the Academy.

Then he had met Matsumoto.

_More like _bumped_ into her._ The _taichō_ thought of their first meeting._ Quite literally._

Tōshirō wondered whether either of them would have guessed back then that he would become her _taichō_. He didn't think so. They had seemed to be an unlikely pairing at the time, being as different as they had been.

As they still were, he realized. But their differences had somehow united them, allowing them to complement each other, even though they contrasted like light and dark did.

The thing was that, Tōshirō couldn't even begin to imagine himself without these people by his side – and that was saying a lot.

Ever since childhood, he had been wary of relying on anyone, and avoided it almost completely. The feeling had only intensified as the years went by, with him sailing through the Academy, and graduating within a year, gaining him the title of "child genius"; and yet later, when he joined the Gotei 13, rising through the ranks by merit of his skill and abilities.

Nevertheless, he had never felt the need to be independent more keenly than the first time he had put on his captain's _haori_. The white garment, with the division insignia emblazoned on the back, seemed to tell him that he was on his own now, and he couldn't – wasn't supposed to – rely on anyone other than himself.

Even so, the pair had managed to worm through his defences. And as much as he would like to deny it, Tōshirō _had_ come to rely on them in many ways, for things big and small. Things that he would never thought that he needed, and which he would never have had otherwise.

Support. Protection. Comfort.

And above all, friendship.

It wouldn't change, he knew. The two of them would always remain at his side. There would be occasions when their trust in each other wavered. There always were.

Maybe it was childish to think so, but he sometimes let himself believe that everything would turn out all right in the end, because they would always be there for him.

_No matter how much I refuse to admit it._

A sudden trickle of water across the back of his palm brought Tōshirō back to his senses. He shook his head, trying to clear it, while wondering whether the mountain air was getting to him. Or maybe it was just excessive exposure to Matsumoto.

After all, the _taichō_ was known for many things, but not for his sentimentality.

Just then, a glint of light caught his eye. The weak sunlight was reflecting off a groove on the ice that hadn't been there before.

Tōshirō realised, with some surprise, that it was actually part of a carving on the ice, which – considering that it was where his hand had been – had probably been caused by him unconsciously releasing _reiatsu_ when he was thinking.

However, it was only when he backed up a few steps that he saw what the carving actually was.

An expression of satisfaction flashed across his face for a moment.

He finally had an idea.

_Thank you, Hinamori._

_

* * *

_

TWO HOURS LATER…

* * *

Matsumoto stifled a yawn.

She had been skiing – or, at least, _trying_ to ski – for nearly three hours, and she was tired. Admittedly, about half that time had been spent "resting", which meant doing other recreational activities that didn't involve ice.

But she still had to admit that her efforts were futile. Ice _was_ her _taichō_'s element, after all. Not hers.

_And speaking of taichō…_

Even though she knew that it was childish, Matsumoto couldn't help the feeling of resentment at her _taichō._ He had chased her away after spending one hour looking at the ice – she had no idea _why_ he didn't get bored – and repeatedly ignored her suggestion of using Hyorinmaru to win.

She was convinced that he would beat everyone else hands-down if he did that, and told him so in the most authoritative and convincing manner that she could muster. But he had just continued to walk around the block of ice, muttering something about "unfairness" before shooing her away.

Sometimes, Matsumoto thought that her _taichō_ was just too morally upright for his own good. In her opinion, being so ethical couldn't possibly be good for anyone's sanity.

And yet he didn't have any problems with it. She had given up on understanding why that was so a long, long time ago.

_Time to check on him, I guess._

Returning her skis, Matsumoto began the trek back to where she'd left her _taichō._

She wondered how he was doing.

_

* * *

_

He straightened up, fingers slightly numb from the constant contact with the ice.

As he inspected his work, Tōshirō wondered how long it would be before Matsumoto came to see how he was faring.

The question was answered almost immediately.

_

* * *

_

As her _taichō _had guessed, Matsumoto was actually quite nearby.

In fact, she was standing beneath a tree right outside the clearing he was in, and had been there for a whole minute. But she didn't see him anywhere, and the block of ice appeared the same to her.

_Or was it?_

Matsumoto frowned. She wasn't sure, but she thought that the surface of the ice seemed slightly less even than it had just now.

_It might have been a trick of the light, though. _She stepped forward, moving towards the ice. _Only one way to find out._

The _fukutaichō_ let out an involuntary gasp as she saw what was on the ice.

_Taichō did _this_?_

She could barely believe her eyes.

The series of carvings extended from one end of the block to the other, depicting various scenes from her _taichō_'s life.

Her gaze travelled from one picture to another. Him, as a child, in Rukongai – talking to his grandmother – playing with a younger Hinamori – a noticeably taller Hinamori, now leaving for the Academy – meeting Matsumoto herself for the first time – joining the Academy – being accepted into the Gotei 13 – training with both Hinamori and Matsumoto – achieving his bankai – and finally, becoming the _taichō_ of the Tenth Division.

"Matsumoto." Her _taichō_'s voice broke her reverie. "You're back."

She whirled around to see him standing barely a foot behind her, concealing his _reiatsu_ as usual. Was it her just imagination, or did he really have a small smile on his face?

"So what do – MATSUMOTO!" Tōshirō let out a yell as his words were cut off by Matsumoto's tight hug. Or as close to one as he could get, considering the sudden lack of air that followed.

Almost reluctantly, she let him go. "Sorry!"

Her voice sounded contrite.

Of course, both of them also knew that the emotion was a hundred percent fake.

"Never mind." He stood beside her for a moment, looking at the ice. Then he began to walk back towards the chalet.

"But _taichō_, it's so nice! You're going to _win_ this competition–"

He interrupted her. "You promised. Three months of paperwork if I win."

She nodded distractedly. "I didn't know you were so good, _taichō_! I don't think any of the other _taichō_s would believe this!"

As she continued to ramble on as they approached the chalet, Matsumoto imagined how her _taichō_ would look like wearing the green scarf that was the first prize. It would really suit him, she knew.

Of course, she wasn't going to tell him that it matched him because _she _had chosen the gift, after all.

And she _definitely_ wasn't going to tell him that the "mystery gift" that came with the first prize – that, incidentally, had been suggested by her, too – was a hug from her.

There was _no way_ she was going to tell him that.

No. Way.

Ever.

* * *

Tōshirō thought, for a moment, that he had seen an extremely evil smile pass over Matsumoto's face

He dismissed it as a figment of his imagination.

After all, what else could she do to him anyway?

* * *

**END**

* * *

3rd Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I really need to practice writing this kind of stuff more often. My speed decreased, like, by _half_ when I was writing this. *sigh* I'm kinda tempted to post my original bubbling-with-OOCness-and-crack idea as an omake. Maybe I'll do that someday. Hmm.

4th (and last) Author's Note: I'll be waiting here for your reviews, and thanks to all who have reviewed so far! You guys have made this fic my most-reviewed one so far! (Yes, I'm pathetic, and happy to cross 10 reviews. So what?) More stories are in the pipeline, so feed the author to increase productivity! Thanks again!


	5. Nightmares Of The Twelfth

DISCLAIMER: Nope. Still not mine. What a tragedy, isn't it?

Author's Note: I'm really sorry for the late update! For some reason, holidays seem to be more busy than term time, and I have no idea why that is so. And what's worse, I won't be able to update for the whole of next week, considering that I'm going to my hometown, which means that won't have access to the Internet. (Unless I somehow end up in Starbucks, or something like that.) So anyway, if you guys don't see any updates next week, it doesn't mean that I am dead, just cut off from the wider world. Hopefully I'll be able to write something while I'm away, and post it when I get back. *sigh* On with the story then, and hope you guys enjoy it...

* * *

Tōshirō opened his eyes, expecting to see the familiar ceiling of his captain's quarters.

He was in for a shock.

The ceiling, far from being the light blue that his own was, was a shimmering silvery colour. It wasn't really silver, but seemed to glow with a multi-coloured light.

Which, to be honest, entirely freaked Tōshirō out.

As far as he knew, only one Division in the entire Gotei 13 possessed _anything_ of that colour. And it wasn't good news.

_If I am correct, then–_

A voice cut into his thoughts.

"Ah, you're finally awake, Hitsugaya-_taichō_."

The owner of that voice seemed, to Tōshirō, at least ten times worse than what he had just realised.

Slowly, he turned around, dreading what – or rather, _who_ – he would see.

"Ichimaru."

The name came out as a low growl. Tōshirō's hand reached for Hyorinmaru almost automatically... only to find empty air where the familiar hilt should have been.

His gaze burned through the former _taichō_. "Is this part of another sick plan, Ichimaru? Where–"

Suddenly, Tōshirō was interrupted, unceremoniously, by another voice.

"Hey, hey, hey! No need to get violent here, okay?" A hand appeared beside him, and he saw another person whom he thought he wouldn't see again.

"Kaien-_fukutaichō_? But you're – this is –"

The traitorous _taichō_ was shoved to the back of Tōshirō's mind as he looked, disbelievingly, at the late member of the Thirteenth Division.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he was, as many had predicted, going crazy from the stress. How else could the sudden appearance of these two people, one dead and one gone, be explained?

The worst thing was, no matter how many times he willed them to disappear, the two people didn't. In fact, they seemed to become more solid with every passing second.

_I'm not making sense._

Tōshirō considered – and quickly dismissed – the very tempting idea of banging his head against the wall a few times.

Even though it might help to clear things up, having a sore head wasn't going to help any.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, and wondered what, precisely, was going on.

"Okay, let me get this straight." Tōshirō pointed to the smiling ex-_taichō _on his left. "You are supposed to be Hueco Mundo with Aizen. And you," his gaze shifted to the person on his right, "are supposed to be _dead_!"

The Tenth Division _taichō_ noted, absently, that his voice seemed a little hysterical, but he thought it to be understandable, considering the circumstances.

"Of course." There were nods of assent from his audience. "We know that."

"The thing is," started the black-haired _fukutaichō_, "someone managed to find a way to summon us back here. Probably the _taichō_ of the Twelfth Division – what's his name, Mayaka or something like that."

"Mayuri." Tōshirō corrected him almost automatically.

The usually unflappable _taichō_ was quite close to breaking out in cold sweat. What he'd just heard confirmed his worst fears – what he had just realised, right before Ichimaru had spoken.

They were in the Twelfth Division.

_But why?_

Ichimaru's voice broke the silence that had settled over the three.

"Actually, considering who Mayuri has gathered here, I would say that his objective is quite obvious." He paused a moment before continuing. "The three of us graduated from the Academy in record time. If I were to guess, Kurotsuchi probably wants to experiment on us to find a 'child prodigy' gene." The silver-haired man shrugged, almost gracefully. "Or something like that."

"And you would be correct!" proclaimed a voice, almost gleefully.

Tōshirō whirled around to see a grinning Mayuri stride into the room, dragging something behind him.

The 'something' quickly revealed itself to be a person.

More specifically, a highly irate Yachiru.

"Kusajishi-_fukutaichō_?" Kaien was the first to speak. "What's _she_ doing here?"

It hadn't seemed possible, but Mayuri's smile grew. "Well, since I managed to get Hitsugaya here, I thought that I would do another experiment that I've been wanting to do for a long time."

He dragged the Eleventh Division _fukutaichō_ into the room despite her protests, still talking to the trio.

"Let me explain. Somehow, in the recent years, there seems to have been a sudden rise in the number of small-sized _shinigami_ rising to the post of _taichō_ and _fukutaichō_. These two," he pointed to Yachiru and Tōshirō, "are prime examples of that. I would have liked to experiment on the Second Division _taichō_ too, but she's not in Soul Society currently. How unfortunate."

As a frown settled on Mayuri's face, a sudden image of Soifon being dragged to the Twelfth Division crossed Tōshirō's mind.

The brief amusement thus obtained, however, was quickly extinguished when Mayuri began to walk towards him, the creepy smile back on his face.

"So Hitsugaya here will be able to participate in both experiments! Don't worry, I won't do research for more than eight hours in a row. That's very good, don't you think?"

Mayuri's smiling face seemed to obscure Tōshirō's view, and he backed up a few steps.

Suddenly, his vision went black.

When he could see again, what swam into view was not the Twelfth Division _taichō_, but his own quarters.

Tōshirō sat up slowly, feeling stunned.

Then he shook his head.

_Maybe Matsumoto is right. I'm working way too hard. It's starting to affect my sleep, even._

As he straightened up, Tōshirō hoped, quite fervently, that he would never have another dream like that, ever again.

* * *

LATER THAT DAY...

* * *

Tōshirō skimmed through yet another report, authorizing it with barely a second thought. He had been doing paperwork since morning, and it was starting to become mind numbing.

His hand froze, however, when he saw the next piece of paper.

It had the insignia of the Twelfth Division. The thistle seemed to mock him as seconds ticked by, and he still sat there, unmoving.

He slowly scanned the paper. It was a request to see him with regards to some "pertinent matters", as it said.

_No way am I going there. I'd rather see that idiot Kurosaki than even _step_ into __that__ place._

Tōshirō picked up the seemingly innocent paper very carefully, as if it would rear up and bite him at any time, before walking to the couch.

"MATSUMOTO!"

His _fukutaichō _jerked awake at his yell. "What is it, _taichō_?"

She sounded very bleary.

Which was to be expected, since she had been out drinking until early this morning.

Perfect.

"Take this. Go." To emphasize the point, he made a shooing motion with his hands.

"But – but – " she spluttered. "It specifically stated that _you_ should go –"

"I don't care." Tōshirō was already walking back to his desk, extremely relieved to be free of the job. "I have better things to do."

His _fukutaichō_ continued to stare at him as he picked up another piece of paper from the pile on his desk.

"What are you waiting for?" He didn't even look up as he spoke. "Go already!"

As Matsumoto reluctantly got up, she wondered whether something was wrong with her _taichō_. Nobody liked going to the Twelfth Division, but he had sounded slightly desperate to have her go there.

She dismissed the thought as she walked towards her destination. It was impossible to freak her _taichō_ out, as she had learned over the years.

After all, he wasn't known as the second-coldest _taichō_ in the Gotei 13 for nothing.

Matsumoto smiled as she continued to walk, oblivious to the relief on her _taichō_'s face.

* * *

**END**

**

* * *

**

2nd Author's Note: Poor Hitsugaya. Hope it was okay. This was really fun to write. Seriously...

3rd (and last) Author's Note: Reviews are eagerly welcome! And thanks to all who have reviewed the last chapter. I wasn't expecting such a good response for it :) Thanks again!


	6. The Unfortunate Lesson

DISCLAIMER: No. That's it.

Author's Note: I'm really sorry for updating this so belatedly! I wanted to write earlier, but my life has been pretty messed up recently, so I couldn't... anyway, I'll keep this short, and hope you enjoy!

* * *

Tōshirō was tempted to bang his head against the table.

He ended up deciding against it, though. No matter how justified he felt it to be, the fact remained that it was a childish thing to do.

_And this ridiculously flimsy table probably would collapse if I did that anyway._

The _taichō_ glowered at the table, as if it had offended him. He missed the elegant mahogany desk in his office – this table resembled a pile of firewood in comparison. It was pathetic, really.

Yet again, he considered trying to bang some sense into his head. It might help him figure out precisely _why_ he had allowed his _fukutaichō _to drag him along on this ridiculous mission to the Real World.

_Speaking of Matsumoto –_

A sudden whistling reached his ears.

Tōshirō barely ducked in time to avoid getting hit by a… _paper airplane_?

_This is ridiculous._

Ignoring the teacher, he turned in his seat to glare at the group seated at the back of Class 1-03.

He could barely believe the sight that met his eyes.

Yumichika, who was seated by the window, had taken out a vanity set and was currently using something – _mascara? _– on his eyelashes.

Tōshirō suppressed a shudder, and decided that he _really_ didn't want to think about it.

_Moving on._

Ikkaku was leaning back in his chair, apparently choosing to use only two legs instead of four. _Either he's testing out the chair's durability, or he really doesn't know that it's likely to collapse if he continues doing that._

_Although, knowing the Eleventh Division as I do, it's probably the second choice._

The _taichō_ quickly dispelled any thoughts of warning the third seat about the potential dangers. _He probably wouldn't listen, anyway._

His gaze travelled to the last pair, and he nearly choked. _Are they… _passing notes _in class?_

A second glance confirmed his guess, and he suddenly realised who had thrown the paper airplane. The handwriting on the paper could belong to no one else but one person.

Namely, Matsumoto.

Who chose that particular moment to wave at him, pointing the paper with a ridiculously exaggerated motion of her hand.

Tōshirō shot her a glare as he turned to face the front again, surveying the rest of the class.

The only exception to the mess was Rukia, who had taken her – evidently customary – seat next to Ichigo. She was currently berating the substitute _shinigami_ for not paying attention in class.

Tōshirō could practically hear the younger Kuchiki saying '_I_ want to listen, even if you don't want to!', even though he was sitting at the opposite end of the classroom.

He shook his head, trying to decide which made less sense: the fact that Ichigo had been able to score quite well despite not paying attention, or the fact the Rukia wanted to listen to the teacher talking.

Of course, it was the principle of the thing. It wasn't like they were _really_ learning anything new.

_Why, precisely, does the History lesson have to be _today_ of all days? Just my luck, I guess._

The _taichō_ sighed as he carefully unfolded the piece of paper. A message was scrawled across the centre of the page in Matsumoto's untidy handwriting.

He stared at it for a few moments. Then his eyes narrowed.

"_Lighten up, taichō"? I have _no_ intention of ending up in the principal's office, thank you very much._

He had just picked up his pen to write a reply when a crash resounded through the classroom as Ikkaku's chair broke.

Tōshirō gave up. He banged his head against the table – several times, in fact.

_So much for staying out of trouble._

* * *

LATER THAT DAY…

* * *

"Okay class, let's go out to the field!"

Tōshirō held a cool hand to his forehead as he winced. The teacher's voice was _way _too cheery. The mere sound of it was capable of driving the usually unflappable _taichō_ up the wall.

And the previous visit to the principal's office had not helped matters.

_I repeat, why _me_?_

"Remember to bring your towels! We'll run a couple of laps, then start playing baseball!"

Groans could be heard from almost all the girls in the class at the announcement as everyone left the relatively cool classroom with varying degrees of reluctance.

The _taichō_ scowled as he looked around him.

Most of the boys looked happy at any excuse to get out of the classroom, even if it meant subjecting themselves to the sweltering heat outdoors. The only visible exception was a certain Quincy.

And, of course, a certain Hitsugaya Tōshirō.

The class reached the main doors all too soon, the teacher walking – _bouncing_, Tōshirō thought – towards the field as they trudged along behind her.

She paused suddenly when she noticed that one student had stopped walking, and was standing under the awning above the doors.

"What's wrong, Hitsugaya? Hurry up!"

Said student resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes, pointing to the sky instead. "It's going to rain," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Most of the class looked up at the sky. Sure enough, dark, dense clouds were gathering in the sky right above where they were standing. One particularly large one was starting to obscure the sun.

The _taichō _noticed one member of the class looking at him, with some measure of suspicion – _and a slight bit of gratitude?_ – in his gaze. _He's quick._

The teacher's voice reached Tōshirō's ears again.

"Oh, come on! It's not going to rain – "

She hadn't even finished her sentence when a huge clap of thunder deafened all those standing at the field. Raindrops fell from the sky above as the temperature seemed to drop rapidly.

Only the Quincy had made it back indoors on time. He now stood beside Tōshirō in a rather companionable silence, watching their teacher get drenched.

It was rather amusing, after all.

As the class began to troop back into the school building, Tōshirō sighed.

He wondered how a powerless Quincy could have possibly figured out what was happening faster than a group of seated _shinigami_.

_Never mind._

_

* * *

2nd Author's Note: In case you haven't figured it out yet, (though I doubt it) this occurs during the Arrancar Arc, when Hitsugaya leads the team to Karakura High. Poor guy..._

3rd (and last) Author's Note: I hope it's good enough :D This was inspired by a Geography lesson of all things. I don't know why. Anyway, I hope to be able to update soon, although I can't promise anything. Let's just say that the election I was talking about a few chapters ago went... _slightly_ too well. Yup. But rest assured that I will write the next one as soon as I can. And remember to review! (Go to my deviantART account for more updates! I have Bleach fanart posted there too! It can be found at tadayorokobi .deviantart .com [without the spaces!] :D)


	7. Of Terrapins and Terror

DISCLAIMER: This is _so_ the last time I'm putting this in. It's a _waste_ of space.

Author's Note: I haven't updated this series in what feels like forever, and yeah, I _do_ feel guilty about it. So there, and hope you don't hate this addition too much.

* * *

Tōshirō walked through the streets of Karakura, an irritated scowl firmly rooted on his face. The rest of his team were waiting at Urahara's shop – except for one person.

Namely, Matsumoto.

His scowl darkened. _Who else?_

Sometimes, he really had to wonder if his fukutaicho was honestly worth the effort. The only consolation he had was that if he had it bad, then Zaraki Kenpachi probably had it worse.

_Or not,_ commented the little voice in his head that had been doing most of the grumbling. _The insane git apparently _enjoys_ being constantly bullied by that pink-haired menace of his, doesn't he?_

The white-haired taicho shook his head in annoyance. He really detested missions to the Human World, one of the main reasons being that he ended up spending way too much time than could possibly be healthy with a certain shopkeeper.

Which, now that he thought about it, was also probably why he now had an annoying, sarcastic voice in his head making completely unneeded comments about everything.

_It's either that, or you're going completely crazy._ The voice gave the mental equivalent of a shrug, which seemed _strangely_ reminiscent of said shopkeeper.

Scratch that – he now had an annoying, sarcastic, _and_ pessimistic voice in his head making _ridiculous_ comments on equally ridiculous topics. Just _great_.

He continued to search for his fukutaicho, making a mental note to stay away from Urahara Kisuke as much as possible – doing otherwise would probably endanger his sanity, especially considering the increasing frequency of his missions to the Human World –

His thoughts cut off abruptly as he spotted the familiar figure of his fukutaicho in front of a pet shop, looking happily at a litter of kittens in one of the cages on display. Unsurprisingly, the poor things looked traumatised.

The annoyed taicho walked up to her, barely bothering to hide his approach. "Matsumoto."

She jumped in surprise at his voice – Urahara's gigai had evidently done a good job of masking his reiatsu, considering that she hadn't noticed him at all. Of course, there was no way that he was going to tell this to the shopkeeper, just as he wasn't about to admit that he felt considerably amused to see her do that.

Tōshirō narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you know that you were supposed to be at Urahara's shop half an hour ago?"

"I was?" Matsumoto blinked innocently at him. "But these kittens are so _cute_, aren't they? And – "

Exasperated, he interrupted her. "Yes, maybe, and no - you may not bring any of them back to the office, however cute they way be."

His voice made it abundantly clear that he knew what she was thinking, and there was _no_ way he was going to let it happen.

She insisted on trying, though. "I really can't? But taicho…"

He nearly rolled his eyes at her pitiful expression. "Which part of 'no' do you not happen to understand, Matsumoto?"

Yet another innocent look. "Er… the whole thing?"

"Under no circumstances and by no means are you to bring that… _thing_ into my office. Are we clear about that?"

Matsumoto pouted, causing Tōshirō to seriously consider banging his head against the wall several times. That might help to get the point across.

He settled for leaning his head against the cool glass of the display window, contemplating a terrapin that contentedly swam up and down its tank.

As he watched, the terrapin swam up to him, looking at him in a seemingly profound manner that somehow suggested to him that the animal understood and pitied his plight.

_If only._

The taicho groaned. He could _already_ feel Matsumoto getting ideas.

Sure enough, she spoke excitedly moments later. "Look, taicho, it _likes_ you! Why don't you take it back, and I can bring this kitten back, and – "

"MATSUMOTO!"

* * *

**END**

**

* * *

**

2nd Author's Note: Yup. Going to post the next one now, so moving on then.


	8. Never Again

DISCLAIMER: I _know_ I said I wouldn't post this again... but it's too much fun to resist. Whoops.

Author's Note: Here's another short one. May or may not be AU, although it probably is, given the time difference. Who cares, though? *snicker* hope you like it!

* * *

Ash grey eyes looked, unseeing, up at the wide sky.

_Someone…_

The sun beat down unforgivingly, a bright dot reflected in her clouded eyes.

_Anyone…_

A cloud floated by and obscured the sun, giving her a blessed moment of respite from the heat.

_Please…_

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

_...help me._

Then there was inky black darkness, and she knew no more.

* * *

The next thing she knew was the coolness of something – _water?_ – against her skin.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking as the blurry shapes of her surroundings came into focus. Nothing much had changed, except that it was now closer to dusk, and the sun's rays did not beat down as strongly as they had, something she was thankful for.

She tried vainly to get up, a gasp of pain escaping her lips at the pain caused by the movement.

A cool hand touched her own, stopping her. "You're injured and dehydrated. Don't move for now."

Surprise flitted across her expression – she had barely noticed that there was someone else with her, so exhausted she had been. "Who – " her voice was a hoarse whisper when she spoke. "Who are you?"

There was the slightest rustle of cloth, and the figure of a small boy came into view, his back to her as he tended to a wound on her arm. She watched, almost mesmerised, as he carefully removed a splinter from the cut, wondering at the practiced, near-clinical movement of his hands.

Most children her age would have been squeamish, if not outright terrified, at the sight of blood. But he was perfectly calm and precise, almost disturbingly so.

_Why?_

Yet she didn't dare to ask him; and it suddenly occurred to her that he hadn't answered her just now. She repeated herself, her voice stronger, more certain this time.

"Who are you?"

She had to admit some surprise when he paused in his actions and turned to look at her, his face impassive. Somehow, she had the feeling that, were circumstances different, he could very well have ignored her completely.

He hadn't; _why_?

From this distance, it was clear that was much younger than he had first appeared, probably even younger than herself – but somehow, it didn't seem like that, nearly as if there was something of his childhood that he had lost, and it made her feel like a young, ignorant child next to him.

Somehow, she thought she had the answers to her questions, but they danced, just out of her reach…

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"You don't need to know who I am," he said finally, tearing his gaze away from her own and turning back to continue cleaning her wound.

It was then that she realised that he was gripping a small chunk of ice tightly in his hand, using the water that dripped from it to clean her wounds – _that_ had been what she'd felt when she woke up.

She frowned, a thought coming slowly to her through the fog of her mind. "Isn't your hand cold?" she asked softly, gesturing to his hand. It was pale from the cold.

The young boy looked up, as if surprised by her question. Then he shook his head slightly. "I'm used to it."

His work finished, he helped her to sit up and gave her some water in a chipped teacup. She accepted it gratefully.

He stood to leave, and she wanted nothing more to stop him, but somehow, she knew she couldn't do that, no matter how she tried.

Still, she called out to him. "Thank you."

He had turned slightly when she spoke, so that she could barely make out his face against the setting sun, waiting for her to continue.

"I – I'm Rangiku." She smiled tentatively, suddenly unsure of what to say. "Nice to meet you."

He looked at her for some time, then turned away again; and she was almost certain that he was going to leave without replying –

"Hitsugaya Toshiro. And you're welcome."

Then he was gone in a blink, and she was left with nothing but a memory of a white-haired boy with green eyes.

* * *

She never could be absolutely certain whether the incident had truly happened, or was just a distant dream – not until a long, long time after…

* * *

She met those familiar green eyes yet again, and wondered how she could ever have doubted.

"Matsumoto Rangiku, fukutaicho of the 10th division. Welcome to our division, taicho. I look forward to working under you, Hitsugaya-taicho."

A shared glance of recognition, of confirmation, where no words were needed at all.

He nodded, reaching out to shake her hand. "Thank you, Matsumoto-fukutaicho."

Matsumoto smiled; it might have been fate, or just pure chance – but there was one thing for sure.

She was never going to doubt him again.

* * *

**END

* * *

**

2nd Author's Note: And there you have it. Kinda random, I guess, but when the plot bunnies attack, there's really no stopping 'em.

3rd (and last) Author's Note: Again, my many apologies for the long lack of updates! I've been ridiculously overworked/sleep-deprived, which is not exactly the most conducive state for writing. Anyway, hope you leave a review, and I'll definitely try to update ASAP!


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